


He is Dealing with the Unimaginable (Destiel One-Shot)

by Fangirling_FTW



Series: Destiel One-Shots [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom Dean, M/M, MENTIONED MCD, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Top Castiel, fair warning, this is gonna hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-26 01:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14391222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirling_FTW/pseuds/Fangirling_FTW
Summary: Something is different about Dean this time, and when Castiel realizes why, it gives him a peace he didn't realize he needed.





	He is Dealing with the Unimaginable (Destiel One-Shot)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I was throwing some head canons back and forth with someone on twitter and it got away from me and turned into 2k of pain im sorry.

Castiel stretches his arms over his head as he leaves his cabin, listening to the evening birdsong as he makes his way through their depressing little camp.  The hastily repaired buildings look like they’re about to crumble under the memory of everything that’s happened, even if their current residents choose to forget as much as they can.

But Castiel… he can remember everything.

Even now, with his grace gone and his emotions numbed by hallucinogens, he can remember.  Watching humanity evolve, growing and dying in ebbs and flows as time steadily marched on.  The rise and fall of empires, the shape of art and literature, the devastation of war. He remembers starting to admire the way the human species doggedly hung onto life, fighting and struggling to make their way in a world where everything was stacked against them, watching them pray to a Father that had abandoned them.

Castiel can remember Lucifer’s fall, the heavy darkness which fell over heaven following God’s departure.  Angels crying out, scrambling to find comfort and purpose now that their Father had left them, looking to the archangels for guidance.  He can remember Michael’s determination that it had come time for  _ the  _ war...and then he remembers time starting to slow.

Ten years started passing where hundreds did before, as they watched the earth and  _ waited _ .  Castiel was almost disappointed when Dean Winchester, Michael’s vessel, was finally born, just another human amongst his father’s creations.  His garrison was assigned to watch, to protect the plan and to make it come to fruition when it was time. Castiel hadn’t understood then, the pain and the cruelty Dean was made to endure as he grew up, as he watched his father die, his brother die, and was cast into the pit.

It wasn’t until Castiel reached Dean’s soul in Hell, until he  _ touched  _ that pain that he began to understand.  Humanity was more than meat to feed to Michael’s war.  They were more than animals of flesh and bone living out their tiny lives for such a short time.  No angel had been given the ability to truly  _ feel _ , but touching that soul- a soul marked by fate and altered by destiny- had  _ changed  _ Castiel.  And that scar was more than just a handprint on a human shoulder.

Castiel rubs absently at his chin, the itch from his beard something that still felt new after four years.  His descent into his own humanity had been swift, and it was possible he hadn’t quite adjusted to the hunger, to sleeping, to feeling the ache in his knees and his feet as he walks in shoes that don’t quite fit.  The path his feet were following was old and worn, and yet every time he took it something made it feel different, and unknown.

Then again, Sam had said yes to Lucifer, and Dean, the prodigal son, had said  _ no. _  History as it was written was changed every time the sun would rise after that day.

Castiel approaches his destination, this cabin looking even more ramshackle than the rest, reflecting the mind of the occupant inside.  He never knew which Dean he was going to see, drunk and angry, cold and detached, or worse. Pained and broken was strangely the one Castiel almost hoped to see, because then at least he knew the damaged soul inside him was still human.

It had taken about two years before it happened the first time.  Tension was thick and Dean had just lost Bobby, so Castiel had comforted him the only way he could without his grace- he’d given Dean his body.  It happened frequently after that, but Dean would always take his pleasure in the dark hours of the night when no one could see him break, least of all Castiel.  It didn’t matter though, even without seeing the face of the man behind him, Castiel could feel it each time his soul cracked and a piece of him broke away. Dean would drift for a while after that, but in the end he always made his way back to Castiel’s bed, and Castiel would let him each time.

Then the old Dean had shown up.  The Dean  _ before _ he knew this life, before he knew Castiel the way he did now, and Castiel’s chest aches even through the drugs pumping in his veins.  In another time, in other circumstances, that Dean and that Castiel may have grown into something beautiful, and the potential layed out in front of this past Dean had triggered a melancholy in Castiel he’d never expected to feel.

He  _ missed  _ him.

And then the past Dean had seen Castiel, seen what had been done to him by the reality of this world.  His Dean has never looked at him that way, with heartbreak and worry. He found out, in the cold and bitter way his heart had rebelled against it, that he didn’t want it.  Not now, when it was too little, too late.

Castiel pushes open the door to Dean’s cabin, a couple lanterns illuminating the mattress where he was sprawled, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.  The rest of the room looks harsh in the dim light, sharp edges like the knives in Dean’s jeans, looking to cut anyone who strayed too close.

Castiel wasn’t anyone.

“Meeting tonight,” Dean grunts.

“Of course.”  Castiel sits at the foot of the bed, glancing at the bag on Dean’s table.  “You found it.”

“I did.”  Dean sits up, the smell of bourbon heavy on his breath.

“Well, it’s time then,” Castiel sighs.  Dean doesn’t say anything, and Castiel doesn’t press, he just sits and watches the sun start to set out of the window.

With a rustle of movement, his view is eclipsed by Dean, broad shoulders and a hard chest forcing him to look up as Dean straddles his lap.  He’s barely raised his chin when a calloused hand grabs his jaw and lips press demandingly against his own.

This is...new.

This isn’t demanding in the way he’s grown used to, the dominant and angry kind.  This is something scared, a more fragile urgency driving Dean’s movements. Castiel lets Dean in, but there’s no harsh bite of teeth, just a desperation that makes Castiel press harder, makes him dive deeper into the kiss instead.  Dean grips him tightly with fingers and thighs, and it’s not promises of how hard he’s going to use Castiel, but a desperate plea.

“I need you,” Dean gasps into his mouth, his words and teeth moving lower down Castiel’s chin and jaw.  “ _ Fuck,  _ Cas…”  Castiel’s body shudders at the whispered words, his hands cupping Dean’s jaw as he takes them in, feeling them out with his tongue and lips as Dean repeats them over again.  Dean leans back to start peeling off layers of poorly laundered clothes, and Cas does the same, tugging his shirt over his head and watching with wide eyes as the cotton of Dean’s shirt falls away.  Castiel leans forward to press his lips against the scarred expanse of skin before him, and Dean’s sigh of relief is warm against the crown of his head.

This is new.

Dean had never allowed them this before.  He’d never allowed Castiel to worship him like this, with lips and tongue and touch, but Castiel explores and Dean doesn’t stop him.  His fingers curl and tug at Castiel’s hair but in encouragement as Castiel laves attention over his nipples and his collarbones, till he’s dusted with a few red marks in the shape of Castiel’s mouth.  With a surge of strength Castiel didn’t expect he lifts and turns, dropping Dean back on the bed as he continues his worship down the hunger thinned plane of his stomach, and Dean arches his back, kicking off his shoes as he struggles to remove his jeans.  Castiel steps back, allowing them each the freedom to finish undressing until they’re bare for each other’s eyes.

This is  _ oh  _ so new.

Castiel climbs over Dean as he moves back to rest against the pillows, dropping his head to claim Dean’s lips as Dean’s hands run over his back, blunt nails digging into his skin as he pulls them closer.  Castiel’s hands move to more intimate places, sliding and learning Dean in a way he’d never had the chance to before. He takes Dean in hand and Dean’s whole body arches into his touch, responsive and eager, giving himself over to whatever Castiel wants to give him.  Dean pants and gasps as their bodies heat and slide together, and it’s not enough while at the same time it’s almost too much. Castiel pulls back because he doesn’t want it to become too much but all Dean does is grasp at the side table and press a small opaque bottle into Castiel’s hand.

Everything is balanced on the edge of something massive and the smallest shove could send it toppling in either direction, so Castiel stills, and he waits.  He waits until Dean meets his eyes, until he sees which Dean this is.

Emotion blurs his vision when those green eyes catch in the lamplight.

It’s  _ him. _

It’s his Dean, the Dean he thought he’d lost when Sam said yes.  The Dean who used to smile when he was particularly obtuse, who would burn with such bright passion and hope when faced with the worst odds.  The past Dean that had arrived today was but a shadow, Castiel realizes, in comparison with this Dean, the Dean he’d literally traveled with to the end of the earth.

“Hello, Dean,” he hums quietly.  Dean’s eyes flutter closed for a moment before they’re forced back open, a sad crooked smile on his face.

“Hey, Cas.”  He pauses, running his fingers down through Castiel’s scruff, the scratch of his nails soothing.  “We really fucked this up, didn’t we?”

“Epically,” Castiel replies.  Dean drops his head back against the pillows, eyes closed as his chest rises and falls.  Castiel reaches out, his hand splayed over Dean’s sternum, letting the beat of his heart vibrate through his fingers.  He wants to say something else, wants to ask him about Sam, about what they’re about to do, but he can’t form the words.  Dean’s eyes open after a time and he looks down his body at Castiel.

“I need to feel you,” he breathes into the quiet room.  And that’s really all that needs saying.

This is new, but Castiel doesn’t question it.  He preps Dean quickly, and when Dean can no longer muffle his cries Castiel swallows them down with his lips and tongue.  Dean writhes and pleads and begs until Castiel loses  _ himself _ to it, sheathing himself in Dean before he’s ready.  No stranger to pain, Dean accepts the intrusion with a sigh, legs folded up along Castiel’s ribs, hands tugging fretfully at Castiel’s shoulders.  They move together, and for the first time Castiel can see Dean’s face. He watches as Dean breaks beneath him, not even trying to hide the tears that slide down his cheeks to dampen the pillow.  

Castiel realizes why.

Tomorrow they leave to face Lucifer, tomorrow Dean’s going to need a way to get close to the archangel, a distraction to give him this one chance.  In a glaringly bright moment of realization, Castiel knows how he’s going to do it.

Tomorrow Castiel is going to die.

It doesn’t scare him, he realizes.  In fact, from the moment he touched the soul of the man below him, he knew this is how it would end- giving his life for Dean’s.  He rests his forehead against Dean’s, continuing to make love to him in deep thrusts as the hunter openly weeps for the first time in four years.  He takes in all the pain, letting Dean crumble as he holds him together, and Dean comes with Castiel’s name on his lips, hands bruising where they grip the back of his neck as Castiel comes right after. 

“It’s okay,” Castiel pants into his neck, fingers wiping away his tears.  “Dean, it’s okay. I forgive you.” Dean’s grip doesn’t relax, legs and arms wrapped possessively around him.  “I forgive you.”

And he does.

After a while, Dean let’s him go, dressing in silence and leaving the cabin while Castiel still sits naked on the mattress.  Castiel doesn’t feel hollow, though, not this time. This time he feels peaceful, scarily close to content as he stares out the window into the dark.  Dean wanted to  _ see  _ him, to feel him, to etch this beautiful and strong bond between them into his memory.  He left himself open to the pain so Castiel could become a permanent mark on his soul. Dean had said goodbye, but Castiel knows that when tomorrow comes, he wouldn’t really be gone.  A part of him is going to live on in Dean Winchester’s soul, and as Castiel gets dressed and prepares to join the others, he’ll take that as a comfort.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so so sorry but... comments and kudos anyway? And maybe check out my other fics? I promise THOSE have happy endings *nervous laugh*


End file.
